


within the heart a flame of desires

by fonulyn



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (once Nicky gets that far), Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Smut, Voyeurism, brief Joe/OFC, brief Joe/OMC, but mostly just Nicky being kind of oblivious, lots of feelings, of course bc it's them, sex is fun!, some self-worth issues on the way to the happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26043724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn
Summary: The first time Nicolò catches a glimpse of Yusuf in bed with his most recent conquest is an honest accident. The following times? Less so. Despite the guilt lingering in his gut, Nicolò finds himself on the other side of the curtain every time Yusuf brings someone home, trying to sneak a peek through the gap, and furiously touching himself. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he should do what Yusuf does and go find someone to spend the night with, instead of masturbating to the stolen glimpses.The problem, though, is he wants no one else.--Or the one wherein Nicolò watches Yusuf have sex with others, desperately wishing he was with him instead. Until things change. He much prefers having Yusuf all for himself.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 60
Kudos: 685





	within the heart a flame of desires

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this kink meme prompt](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=166482#cmt166482). it was supposed to be super quick and short but it kind of… ran away from me :’D and because I'm me, I bled feelings all over it.

To be fair, Nicolò doesn't mean to sneak a peek, the first time. It's an honest accident, as he comes home and doesn't immediately realize that Yusuf has company. He’s excited because he found such ripe mangoes on the marketplace, a treat he knows Yusuf will appreciate, and he doesn’t even stop to set them down in their small living area as he rushes to the thick curtain that separates Yusuf’s sleeping alcove from the main room.

It’s the bright laughter of a woman that makes him stop in his tracks. He freezes, eyes wide, and squeezes the fruit in his hands a little too tight. The curtain is open only a palm’s width, but that’s more than enough. The woman’s slender legs are thrown over Yusuf’s wide shoulders, her head thrown back against the bedding and her long dark hair cascading down towards the floor. She has her fingers curled in Yusuf’s hair, where his head is between her thighs, and she speaks so fast Nicolò can’t understand even half of it.

Not that he even tries. He stands there, frozen on the spot, staring at how Yusuf slides his big hands along her sides, grips her waist and then does something that makes her all but scream in delight. 

The mangoes drop to the floor, forgotten. Nicolò doesn’t even think, simply takes the few steps in their small home so he can hide in his own sleeping area, behind another thick curtain. Not that the fabric does anything to muffle the sounds. She’s vocal in her enjoyment, and as soon as Yusuf’s mouth isn’t otherwise occupied so is he. He keeps speaking, and although Nicolò can’t make out the actual words the familiar timbre of that voice makes him shiver. 

Hastily he fumbles to untie his pants so he can push a hand inside and palm his achingly hard cock. The first touch makes him hiss, as he hadn’t even realized how on edge he’d gotten from merely a few minutes of secretly watching the exchange. The angle is awkward so he struggles to get his pants down to mid-thigh, out of the way enough so he can start working his erection in earnest. 

If Nicolò squeezes his eyes shut tight enough he can almost imagine it’s Yusuf’s hand on him instead of his own. He tries to drown out the woman’s voice and focus only on the one he wants in his ears, the one he longs for, the words he wishes that were whispered against his skin instead. 

And it’s not the arch of her back or the curve of her breasts that he is thinking about as he brings himself to completion. It’s the way muscles shifted underneath Yusuf’s smooth skin, the vast expanse of his back, the droplets of sweat running down his neck. The way he splayed his fingers wide on her skin, holding her in a tight grip. 

It is only because they’re being so loud themselves that the two don’t hear Nicolò’s desperate gasp of Yusuf’s name as he spills all over his hand.

Ashamed of his loss of control, Nicolò doesn’t emerge from his alcove for the rest of the day. 

In the morning, he steps into the common area to find Yusuf smiling at him, ready with breakfast. He breaks the bread in half, and Nicolò can’t stop staring at his fingers, can’t stop imagining the strength hidden within and how it would feel having those hands on him in whatever way possible. Numbly he takes the half handed to him, trying not to say out loud how much he longs to feel those warm palms over _his_ thighs.

He would trade all the bread in the world for only one time of that.

Yet all he says is “Thank you.” and sits down, pretends like nothing has changed.

*

The first time was an honest accident. The following times? Less so.

Despite the guilt lingering in his gut, Nicolò finds himself on the other side of the curtain every time Yusuf brings someone home, trying to sneak a peek through the gap, and furiously touching himself. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he should do what Yusuf does and go find someone to spend the night with, instead of masturbating to the stolen glimpses.

The problem, though, is he wants no one else. 

So he finds convenient excuses for himself. He just _happens_ to walk in at the right moment, he _accidentally_ sees more than he should, and if he listens intently to what goes on in the other bed? How could he _not_ hear that, when he’s lying so close? And if he wants to feel Yusuf’s beard scrape over his skin, or have his breath mix with his own… well that’s only for him to know.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Nicolò has known for a while that he’s helplessly, hopelessly enamored of Yusuf. At first he’d thought it admiration, had thought he simply appreciated the man’s numerous skills and wanted to be _like_ him. He’d thought he watched Yusuf’s every move with such rapt attention because he wanted to learn such fluidity of motion, too, had hung on to his every word because he, too, wanted to master languages so well. 

It is only so long that a man can lie to himself.

A little desperately Nicolò tries to see if there’s a certain type Yusuf’s drawn to, if there are common characteristics to the ones he brings to his bed, but there’s nothing. There are tall women, short women, curvy ones and slender ones, and there’s really nothing they have in common except for all of them being _women_. And it is equal parts a blessing and a curse that Nicolò knows he truly never stands a chance. 

Until one night.

The second Nicolò steps over the threshold he knows something is different. He practically holds his breath as he shifts closer, careful not to be seen as he glances behind the curtain. And his knees almost give out underneath him. It is very, very clearly not a woman Yusuf has pinned underneath himself. The stranger has his forehead pressed against the mattress while Yusuf fucks into him from behind, holding the man’s hips high with those gorgeous, large hands of his. 

Nicolò’s throat goes dry and for the first few moments he’s like frozen on the spot. He watches Yusuf’s thick cock as it disappears between the stranger’s cheeks, over and over again. He lets his gaze linger on the dark patch of hair leading down from Yusuf’s navel, on the sweat running down Yusuf’s back, over the curve of his hip. He wants to follow that same trail with his tongue, lick the salty sweat off that tanned skin.

Nicolò can’t take it any longer.

A strangled noise escapes him and he doesn’t even stop to see if anyone’s noticed it before he rushes into his own bed. He can barely get his clothes out of the way enough so he can get a hand on his dick, already leaking with need, and he knows it would only take a few quick strokes for him to climax. Yet he draws it out, only gives himself feathery touches that push him higher but never high enough, as he listens to the sounds echoing from the other sleeping nook. 

Experimentally he dips his hand lower, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his rim, but that’s as far as he gets before his courage fails him. There’s a spark of anger, disappointment lurching in his stomach as he can’t even do this to himself, but he ignores it the best he can. He focuses on Yusuf’s voice, imagines that those sounds are meant for him, and palms his own dick to full hardness again. 

This time he doesn’t draw it out. Soon enough his back arches off the bed, his heels slipping on the bedding as he cants his hips up into his own touch, eagerly milking the aftershocks from his own body.

Afterwards Nicolò lies there, sprawled out with his clothes still hanging off his limbs, staring at the ceiling numbly. As his breaths calm down the high fades, leaving only shame behind. With angry, jerky movements he wraps himself into the covers, and attempts to force himself to sleep. No matter how hard he tries he can’t shake the longing, the yearning, cold despite the fabric he’s wrapped in.

In the morning, he tells himself. In the morning he’ll confess. He’ll grab Yusuf’s hands in his own and ask him to seek no other company. Ask him if he could consider sharing his bed with Nicolò instead. 

When he wakes, his courage has left him. He says nothing.

*

For the next three days Nicolò tries to act as natural as possible around Yusuf. He thinks he manages, the years they’ve shared first as reluctant allies and later as genuine friends molded a routine so familiar it doesn’t take much for him to slip into it. They share their meals, work side by side in the small vegetable garden they’ve planted – a first for them, they never stayed in one place for long until the constant traveling wore them both thin and they decided to settle here for a time.

Neither of them is under any illusions that this is permanent, but for now it is home.

Most days, Yusuf leaves for the town, works odd jobs there until he returns in the evening. He’s always more drawn to people, to the busy streets and the sounds of life around him. Wherein Nicolò has taken to help out at the farm just on the outskirts of the town, the childless couple struggling and unable to really hire proper help. Their hut lies on the farm’s land, and Nicolò considers it’s a fair trade. Their accommodations in return for a few hours of work daily.

Nicolò carries water from the well, and as he steps inside Yusuf looks up from where he’s kneading the dough for bread. His eyes are smiling already before his lips are, and Nicolò feels his heart constrict. So he says nothing, turns around to fill the pitcher with clear water, and pours a drink for the other man. 

The cup he offers is gratefully accepted, but as he moves to step back there’s a hand on his wrist, the pressure gentle enough he could break free if he really wanted to, but insistent enough to speak clear language of how he shouldn’t. 

“What has been on your mind?” Yusuf asks, eyes wide and honest. “You have been slipping into your mind these days, Nicolò. Some days it feels as if you are not here with me at all.”

There’s no way for him to know how his words cut, how they pry Nicolò’s heart open and make him want to crumble. How could he? He’s being a good friend, a considerate companion, and all the while Nicolò is the one having impure thoughts about him even as he watches those strong fingers digging into the bread dough. 

So he shrugs it off, attempts a smile. “You know me. I am not a man of many words.” It isn’t a lie, strictly speaking. Yet it isn’t the truth either. 

“Usually I don’t mind having the words for us both,” Yusuf answers, and although the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile there’s an odd sense of seriousness to him. “But I sense something is bothering you. I would like it if you trusted me enough to share.”

There it is. The perfect opportunity to confess his feelings, to confide in Yusuf and hope he returns the affection. As meager as that hope is, Nicolò knows Yusuf would never intentionally crush his heart, or cause any more suffering than he has to. Yet instead of a confession, what comes out is “It was a man.” Immediately he wants to cut his tongue out, just to stop himself from going on, but once the words start they don’t stop. “The one you took to your bed three nights ago was a man.”

Slowly Yusuf releases his grip on Nicolò’s wrist, his brow creasing as he tries to comprehend the meaning of the words. Or, more the tone of them, the intent behind them, as the words themselves are clear enough. “I did not think you so small minded any longer, not after—”

As fast as he is able, Nicolò cuts him off, interrupting in an almost panicked voice as this is not how he wanted the conversation to go. “No, you—” he hesitates, sighing as he feels his courage leave him. He knows he won’t confess to his feelings, not now. Maybe not ever. He doesn’t want Yusuf to feel like he thinks any less of him though, so he offers a smile, his voice soft. “I do not judge.”

Slowly Yusuf nods, considering. “Then why is it that you’re bothered by it?”

Nicolò shrugs, turning around so that the lie won’t be visible on his face. “I was merely surprised.” 

His back turned, Nicolò entirely misses the disheartened, wistful look sent his way.

*

In hindsight, Nicolò should’ve known that Yusuf has company when he sees the basket full of fresh fish on the table. It wasn’t the first time Yusuf went fishing with the same handsome young man from the town, the one whose name Nicolò refuses to learn on principle, and they always brought most of the fish they caught to the farmer’s family or to others who needed it more. So seeing the catch abandoned on the table can only mean one thing; a distraction.

The next thing Nicolò registers are the muffled sounds. He knows he should step back outside, go tend the garden, go find something for himself to do, but helplessly he’s drawn in. His footsteps are silent like a thief’s as he pads closer, the curtain open as if in invitation. His heart is thudding in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, and he can barely hold back the gasp that threatens to fall from him as he gets an eyeful. 

Yusuf’s on his back this time, the other man straddling his hips, and Nicolò can only handle so much. The two are laughing in between harsh breaths, obviously enjoying themselves, and Nicolò tears his eyes off the scene in front of him. He almost stumbles over his own two feet in his haste to get away, and this time he doesn’t head straight into his own bed but instead flees outside, hoping the brightness of the day might burn these thoughts from his mind.

Even outside Nicolò can hear the noises though, the walls too thin to keep anything in. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes, tips his head backwards and lets the sun warm his face. It’s nothing compared to the fire burning in his veins, pure molten desire mixing with hot white jealousy, neither of them feelings he has any right to have. He squeezes his hands into tight fists, his blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms, and the tinge of pain doesn’t provide even a modicum of distraction. 

Too lost in his thoughts he doesn’t even realize when the noises stop, not before someone tumbles out of the door, followed immediately by another person. The first thing he sees is Yusuf’s bright smile, one that even widens when he spots Nicolò standing next to the door. “Nicolò! Is it time for dinner already?” he asks, smile faltering slightly as he glances from Nicolò to the man standing next to him, clearly undecided. “We were going to bring the fish—”

“No,” Nicolò cuts in, attempting a smile that he’s certain isn’t going to fool anyone. “It’s not time yet, you go on.” There’s still a hint of hesitation in Yusuf’s eyes so he repeats, for emphasis. “Go.” And that’s all it takes. The young man next to Yusuf grabs his wrist and pulls him along, and Yusuf goes easily, although he keeps his eyes on Nicolò for long enough to stumble in his steps. It’s almost as if he’s worried, concern in the knit of his brow, but he says nothing. 

Nicolò stays there like rooted on the spot until the two disappear from his sight. 

Then he stumbles back inside. Before he has the time to second guess himself he’s lying facedown in Yusuf’s bed, nose pressed into the mattress in an attempt to surround himself with Yusuf’s scent. His trousers are loose enough that he can just push a hand in them and lace his fingers around his dick, and as awkward and restricting as the angle is it’s enough, it’s more than enough, with all of the images flooding his mind. 

Memories of what he’s seen mix with hidden fantasies, laced together with his hopes and dreams, and his mind is so full of Yusuf there’s no room for anything else. He imagines how it would be to lick over the smooth skin of Yusuf’s shoulder, bite down in the crook of his neck, press as close to him as humanly possible. He imagines Yusuf’s hands on him, those thick fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, sliding over the curve of his ass, taking him apart with unmatched ease. 

Only as the first loud moan spills from him does Nicolò try to muffle the sounds he makes into the bed, as if an afterthought. He shifts until he’s on his knees, face still against the bed but hips high in the air, and imagines how it would feel to have Yusuf behind him, claiming him as his own.

That is the thought that does him in. He comes with a shudder and a choked back gasp, spilling into his trousers and all over his hand. He keeps stroking himself through it, chanting Yusuf’s name like a prayer.

At first Nicolò thinks he’s still fantasizing as he hears his own name in Yusuf’s voice, but there’s something… off about it. It’s not the sultry whisper in his ear he’s been frantically trying to create in his mind but more a shocked gasp, and that’s what makes Nicolò turn his head. 

Everything stops. 

It takes Nicolò a ridiculously long while to pull his hand out of his pants and roll over to sit. His hand is coated in his own cum and he hesitates for a moment before wiping it on his clothes. He can’t help but grimace, as if that is the most embarrassing thing about this whole ordeal. His cheeks are burning, and he knows he’s blushing all the way to his chest, and there’s no way he’s meeting Yusuf’s gaze right now. “F-forgive me, I—”

“But you didn’t want me.”

It is merely a whisper, so unlike Yusuf’s usual voice, that it immediately makes Nicolò change his mind and look up. He doesn’t know what he expects, disappointment or disapproval or something entirely different, but whatever it is it’s _definitely_ not the slack-jawed awe he sees on Yusuf’s face. There’s no way he can decipher that look, much less the words, as the words make no sense, they’re as far from the truth as humanly possible. 

So that’s what he says. 

“You’re the _only one_ I want.” He speaks in a low voice, shaky and barely audible, but the words come straight from his heart. There’s not a single hint of anger on Yusuf’s face and that spurs Nicolò on, gives him enough courage to confirm his statement. “The only one I have ever wanted.” His mind flashes to the few times he’d been with other men, to the stolen secret moments in dark corners and alleys way before he ever died for the first time, and none of those trysts hold a candle to what he feels now. None of those come even close. 

The disbelieving look on Yusuf’s face morphs into something different, something Nicolò isn’t sure he’s ever seen on that face during the years they’ve spent traveling together, fighting side by side, living side by side. There are tears in those gorgeous eyes, and Nicolò wants to reach out and brush over Yusuf’s cheeks, trace a line along his eyebrows, anything to get to hold his face and keep him close. 

He does none of that. Instead he scrambles to get up, a little unsteady on his feet and the embarrassment still burning in his gut, his skin splotchy with the blush. He tries to step around Yusuf and flee, as he isn’t prepared for the inevitable rejection that is surely going to follow. He’s been a fool and ruined everything, from now on he’ll be doomed to walk this earth alone for all of eternity and— “I apologize, I—” 

That’s as far as Nicolò gets before he’s stopped by a firm grip on his upper arm. He casts his eyes down, but that, too, is soon undone as there are fingers tilting his chin up until he’s drowning in those deep eyes again. 

“Tell me you mean it,” Yusuf pleads, “tell me this isn’t in jest, that you aren’t making fun of my feelings.”

Confused, Nicolò frowns. “What.” It isn’t even a question, he doesn’t have enough air left to make it one.

Yusuf has mercy on him. He brushes the pads of his fingers up Nicolò’s cheek, to his temple, where he meets a stray strand of hair. “Nicolò, my heart,” he all but whispers, and finally there is a smile on his face, as tentative as it is, “have I not made it clear enough that my life begins and ends with you?” The look Nicolò gives him must convey his confusion adequately enough as he goes on without waiting for a reply. “You really did not notice how I was throwing myself at your feet, wishing for you to want me back as I’ve wanted you for so long?” 

There is something sad in Yusuf’s expression, then, something almost defeated as he recalls, “You told me to stop. So I did.”

“I did no such thing,” Nicolò blurts the words out but he has never been so certain of anything in his life. 

“I am a fool, then,” Yusuf decides, the tentative smile on his lips widening, something joyful sparkling in his eyes as he lets his fingers slide further, tangles them in Nicolò’s hair. Instinctively Nicolò tilts his head into the touch, drawn in by it, and he almost misses the question at first. “Would you let me kiss you?”

The moment the words register in his mind Nicolò surges forward. Their noses bump together, teeth clash uncomfortably, and it is frankly much too eager and uncoordinated to even be pleasant at first. But Yusuf is laughing into it, before showing considerably more restraint than Nicolò does by pulling back for a beat. The second time he leans in it’s slower, more focused, and Nicolò practically melts into it. 

“Please,” is the first thing that spills from Nicolò’s lips as soon as they’re no longer claimed by Yusuf’s, once they break apart and frantically try to take in the moment, somehow comprehend that it is all happening. It is _real_. Nicolò grabs Yusuf’s shirt in both his fists, pulling on the fabric with no real intent, more as a question. “I want to have you, like they had you.”

The words make Yusuf laugh but it’s without malice, almost relieved. “You already have me, in ways none of them could ever even dream of.”

Nicolò doesn’t know how to explain that the same is true in reverse, that in all the ways that matter he has already belonged to Yusuf for longer than he even knows. He doesn’t know how to admit to the magnitude of his feelings, so it’s easier to push his hands under Yusuf’s clothes, to hastily rid him of them. They’re kissing again, stumbling towards the mattress in their haste, and once they tumble down onto it it’s in a heap of limbs that isn’t entirely comfortable before they manage to rearrange themselves.

Something flashes in Yusuf’s eyes then, something like hunger. He is a man of many words, but this time he uses none. Instead he lets his body do the talking, his hands and his lips getting the point across with such reverence it makes Nicolò almost embarrassed to be the target of such focus. He relishes in it, though, basks in it, soaks in every single second of it. 

By the time Yusuf reaches for the oil he keeps by the bed, Nicolò is burning up from the inside so badly he doesn’t think he has the patience for this. He may have not done this in particular ever before but he’s not stupid, he knows what it’s for, how this works. “Just take me,” he breathes out, the flush of arousal on his cheeks deepening a shade, the edge of his nerves audible in his voice, “I’ll heal.” He can’t die, he can’t be hurt, that much they’re certain of, so why waste time on such a trivial step.

Only Yusuf will have none of it. “This is a joyous thing,” he says and smiles at Nicolò in a way that does more to convince him of it than any words ever could. He kisses Nicolò’s thigh, his beard scraping over the smooth skin, and when he slides his warm palms up from Nicolò’s knee there’s absolutely nothing Nicolò wouldn’t give him. “I will not tarnish it by hurting you, however temporarily.”

So Nicolò gives in. 

Yusuf deems him ready only when he’s shuddering helplessly on three fingers, weakly parting his legs in a wordless plea for more. That’s when Yusuf rolls over and sits, propped against the wall, and pulls him close by his hips. “You set the pace,” he says against Nicolò’s sweaty brow, his voice pitched lower than usual. Then there’s a grin curving his lips, one that Nicolò can feel against his skin, as Yusuf adds “ _this time_.”

It makes Nicolò huff out a breathless laugh, and he’s beginning to comprehend what Yusuf meant when he called this joyous. His heart is alight with emotion, fluttering in his chest, and he can’t stop smiling. Not even when he finally, _finally_ sinks down on Yusuf’s cock, inch by inch. As slick and stretched as he is from the fingering it’s still a lot. Not that he’d have anything to compare to, really, but there’s a moment when he’s not entirely certain if he’s able to take all of it, until the moment passes and he ends up flush against Yusuf’s hips. 

Yusuf kisses him then, like he’s something wondrous. 

Somehow that shatters the careful standstill, gives Nicolò the last needed push he needs to really take what he wants. Soon his thighs are straining with the effort as he picks up the pace, fucks himself down on Yusuf’s rock hard cock, and loves every single second of it. It’s unlike anything he’s experienced and greedily he wants more of it, takes and takes and takes, clinging onto Yusuf’s shoulders for leverage.

Countless of times Nicolò has imagined how Yusuf’s large hands would feel on his skin but nothing could’ve prepared him for the real thing, for how his entire body shudders at the smallest of touches, like he’s starved for them. And when one hand slips between them, fingers lace around his cock, he doesn’t know where to, anymore. 

All too soon he’s spilling between them, body lurching forward with the intensity of it. Blindly he tries to find Yusuf’s mouth with his own and it is probably Yusuf’s doing that he manages. 

Then Nicolò is falling, laughing as his back hits the lumpy mattress and Yusuf pins him into it. The laughter melts away a second later, turning into a choked back gasp, as Yusuf snaps his hips forward two, three times in quick succession. Nicolò is almost too sensitive for it, but only almost, and he welcomes the sensations as he loops his legs around Yusuf’s hips. 

Yusuf leans in and peppers his face with kisses even as his hips stutter and eventually come to a halt, finally finding his own release. 

Breathless and sated, they stay still for the longest moment, until reality catches up to them and forces them to find a more comfortable position. Nicolò doesn’t even try to hold back the disappointed sigh as Yusuf slips out of him, and it earns him an almost surprised laugh. It’s the furthest thing from mocking though, and Nicolò only smiles lazily, owning up to it. 

“Had I known this was a possibility,” Yusuf says as he stretches his legs out and settles comfortably next to Nicolò, an arm thrown around his middle, “it would’ve saved me many a sleepless night thinking about you.”

“I saw you,” Nicolò admits then, suddenly, unable to keep from confessing. There’s a hint of nervousness curling in his gut, as he isn’t certain how Yusuf will react to this. “With the others. With the ones you brought here.”

Seems that Yusuf isn’t too bothered by it, though, as all he does is hum a little and press a kiss onto Nicolò’s collarbone. His beard tickles and it makes Nicolò squirm, but he merely tightens his hold around him. “And yet you said nothing? We could have been sharing a bed for …how long now?” As there is no answer, he lifts his head a little, searching for Nicolò’s gaze with his own. “How long have you known?”

For a long moment Nicolò is silent as he doesn’t want to flippantly brush the question off. He thinks about it, considers his own feelings, and what he finds almost makes him laugh. “Do you remember the day you got kicked into the river by that camel?”

Yusuf snorts out a laugh. It’s entirely inelegant. Nicolò is thoroughly charmed anyway. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” Nicolò answers firmly, even underlines the answer with a shake of his head. “I am not. I… I thought you would be mad, but you got out of the river laughing, even though you were soaked wet and you lost all the fish you caught. That’s when I knew I would never want anyone else but you.”

Yusuf shifts to hover above him, his smile brighter than the sun. “You _are_ making fun of me.” 

He leans down for a kiss, though. And for a moment in time, this is all that exists.

**Author's Note:**

> come chat with me [on tumblr](https://fonulyn.tumblr.com/post/627148521273966592/within-the-heart-a-flame-of-desires-joenicky)! :D


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